


Ne rien comprendre

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: All I remember about Alsace Lorraine, And knows some French from dealing with devineaux, Argent knows English French and polish, Because I Want Her To, Blood, Carmen has PTSD, Carmen is in her early twenties like Zack and Ivy, Carmen is learning Spanish, Chase is close to his forties, Chase isn't a bad dude, Dark, Devineaux is fluent in three languages, Friendship, From French class, Gen, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jules is early thirties, Misunderstandings, Player is probs sixteen or seventeen, Whump, alas I am not as studious as i would like, carm has issues, carmen sandiego season 3 spoilers, coach brunt sucks, do not repost to another site, he also realizes he treated jules not very well, hence why Carmen is still a child in Chase's eyes, i guess, id love to become fluent, introspection????, is it went back and forth between France and Germany, its French English and german, its an older train, just for ref, look ive only been on one once, may sprinkle some french in here, mention of being drugged, multilingual folks, no beta we die like men, no romantic relationships, no ships, past trauma, tentative friendship, to keep unconscious, which any native speakers feel free to give advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: Chase thought he understoodla femme rouge. She was a thief, a superthief - and Chase Devineaux would take her down.But doubts had been sown, slowly growing, their tendrils reaching towards the light-And now this had happened.And Chase realized that he understoodnothing.
Comments: 38
Kudos: 149





	1. At your doorstep

**Author's Note:**

> So I mentioned an idea on tumblr and people said to go for it. Original I was going to bounce POVs but I may stick with Chase's. 
> 
> And before anyone says anything; I'm in my early twenties and barely feel like an adult. Chase realizing that Carmen is much younger than he thought influences his changing thoughts, hence why he'll refer to her as a child. It's not meant to be demeaning all.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!!!
> 
> EDIT: I took French for four years and hope to become fluent but I am lacking in certain knowledge. So a lot of things are gonna be BS’ed because I don’t have the energy to research.
> 
> EDIT: I lied and did some research. It won’t be super in depth but hey, effort was made!!!

It was raining, he noted dryly. 

He only even noticed because his hair hung limply in his face, and the weight on his back grew heavier. He grunted and hefted her up again. She was already dead weight.

Hopefully she wasn't dead.

He rang the doorbell, and waited.

* * *

It hadn't gone as he had hoped.

His thoughts were swirling as he and Agent Zari stalked la femme rouge to an art district in the Alsace-Lorraine region of France. He couldn’t even take comfort being in his home country, as tense and time-sensitive as this case was.

(And, of course, there were the lingering doubts, planted by Argent, festering, growing-)

Of course he kept quiet, and professional. No matter what alliances may be going on, the fact was that this art was in danger.

“We’ll need to split up,” Agent Zari said at one point, and he had acquiesced. While her French wasn’t impeccable, her German was quite good, so she wouldn’t need his help with translating.

Splitting off, Chase made his way through the town they were in. He knew there was Le Musée d’Unterlinden in the area, so it was a matter of staking it out.

Staking out, while not impossible, wasn’t Chase’s usual plan of action. He liked it to have more, well, action. But patience paid off, because as the sky began to bleed with the sun’s departure, he saw the movement of something blending on with the sky.

La femme rouge.

Chase held back, fighting his instinct to rush towards. He kept quiet, and collected, trying to follow her without being seen. She seemed to be staking the place out herself, or perhaps already had, and was ready to enter.

It was not to be.

Something _huge_ lunged from the lengthening shadows - Chase was close enough to hear the woman’s grunt.

It was the bear lady. She had her arms around la femme rouge, tightening her hold. “Well well well, thought you could outrun mama bear, lambkins?”

If there was one thing Chase Devineaux knew, it was that this woman was no one’s ally.

Chase didn’t have much on him besides his pen, and a badge. He cast his eyes around but there was nothing useful.

So instead, he rammed into her.

Not his best idea.

_What is this woman, a brick wall???_

Bear woman grunted, snatching him with a meaty fist. She snorted in her face, a smile creeping up. Regardless of his wriggling, she didn’t let go.

“Well now, lookie here. Got ourselves a feisty cowboy. And Black Sheep is pretty fond of you too.”

Then she decked Chase and he knew no more.

* * *

We he next woke up, he was trussed up in some sort of crate.

Sandiego is next to him, unconscious, hands tied as well. He can tell she’s not okay, in fact, she’s worse off than _him_. In the dark it’s hard to tell, but he smells blood, and she’s definitely roughed up.

Now, how to get out?

Chase can tell they’re on a train - he’d been on them frequently enough. He wonders, fleetingly, why she would bother to hide them on a public transport. But that's when his probably-a-concussion rears its ugly head. 

He spits out a curse; then curses the bear lady and whoever spawned her line. He curses Sandiego, too, as he begins to wriggle and wraith, despite the pain, because like hell is he staying in here.

It's not elegant. It's not subtle. But the bear of a woman must trust that they won't get out because no one comes to see about the ruckus.

It's a while before he manages to break the zip-tie ( _he had needed to calm down and remember, oh yeah, he had been trained on how to break out of them_ ). He doesn't bother with Sandiego's; it doesn't seem like she'll be waking up any time soon.

Breaking out of the crate isn't anywhere near as hard; they only put a latch on it, and it was a matter of tipping the crate and jumping. Taking a minute, he cracks the lid open and glances around, listening intently.

No one.

Well, there's a few pets in travel-crates, nothing like their wooden prison. They perk up at the activity, but stay silent except for lolling tongues and nervous panting.

Chase tries to get out and manages to tip the crate over, face planting. It does his aching head and neck no favors. Vision blurring, he opts to try and drag Carmen Sandiego out.

She doesn't stir. He checks that she's still breathing, that there's still a pulse.

Then he sees the bruised injection site.

Chase narrows his eyes; he'd never really agreed with sedation. He'd seen a fair share of bad reactions. But she was breathing, and her pulse was steady, if a tad slow.

Plans for waking her up were thrown away.

Fortunately they seem to be in the last car; there's a door and a rail at the back. He watches, judging and angling. They would have to jump, as soon as the train slowed down.

Well, _he_ would jump, hefting the woman up like a sack of potatoes and tossing her.

Chase grimaced. Then he went to get la femme rouge.

He grunted, and his vision danced, as he lifted her. He knew if Mademoiselle Argent were here, she'd be scolding him with facts. Agent Zari would-

Well, he doesn't really know her all that well. So who knows.

He shakes his head, regrets it. Then he feels it, the train slowing, starting to curve. A turn was coming up, and the countryside he was facing was grassy. Perfect.

He tosses her. Then jumps right after.

" _Ouf, dam-, ugh, mer-_ "

It isn't pleasant, to say the least.

Seems this was the prickly kind of grass that pretended to be soft. And rolling down a hill of it was nauseating. 

He finally rolls to a stop, bumping into Sandiego with a groan. "Ughh, I do not recall this being painful as a child."

There's no response to his quip.

Chase is too exhausted to care.

* * *

When he finally manages to move, the train is long gone, and the day is well on to noon.

First, after assessing himself (bruised, still concussed probably, a few cuts and torn skin), he checks on Sandiego.

Her arm is definitely broken, looks like the left. Hopefully it's not her dominant one. She's bruised and cut like himself, but it doesn't seem to bad, probably because she was unconscious. Her coat was definitely torn, and her hat had fallen off. He brushed her hair away - _why is it so long_ \- to make she she wasn't also concussed-

He backpaddled with a shocked croak.

Carmen Sandiego. . . she's. . . 

" _Elle est un enfant!_ " 

This whole time. . . ?

She was a thief, but-

Chase didn't have much extended family, but he had taken in young trouble-makers on charges before. And he had met Mademoiselle Argent's second-cousin. Surprisingly, he had a soft spot for young ones. And la fem- Sandiego, she looked so _young_. He knew, logically she was an adult by law, but-

She looked like he did before starting _Université_ \- just, young. All this time he assumed she was a rival aged somewhere between himself and Argent, but she had to be younger than both of them. A child, a young adult. Barely no longer a teenager.

With this revelation, a new picture came to light. The injuries, the sedation, it all seemed worse somehow. And the bear lady and her people-

Something far more sinister was going on. 

And now Chase knew he understood nothing.

* * *

When he managed to gain his strength (more of will than physically), he hefted Sandiego up and began to walk in the direction he knew the city to be in. He recognized this field, had seen it on cases with Argent.

And he also remembered that the town next to it, was where said Mademoiselle's apartment was.

He may scoff at Argent's technical jargon, but he _did_ listen. Sometimes.

It was hard going - Sandiego was no lightweight, and Chase himself wasn't at his prime not even counting the various injuries. It took hours to leave the hill and field, and in that time the sky grew darker. At first he thought he must have just been taking that long, then he felt the silken chill that promised rain.

Too tired to spit a curse, he just spat.

By time he found a street - _rue de la lune,_ the sign read - the rain had let loose. With a sigh, he adjusted his grip (he was beginning to get worried, with how long Sandiego stayed unconscious) and kept walking. 

And walking. And walking.

His gaze focused on nothing, rain in his eyes, he walked and walked and walked, until it blurred into nothingness of repetition. Until he felt his arms starting to tingle, and he had to keep checking that his grip was secure. 

Until the rain was pooling, sopping his shoes.

Until he hadn't even realized he had stopped, her door in front of him, the number _89_ dim and brassy.

Realizing the mahogany door in front of him was her apartment, he rang the doorbell.

She opened it. "Devineaux-?'

Stopped just as suddenly, mouth open.

"May we come in, Miss Argent? S'il vous plaît?"

She stared at them for a moment, then moved aside. "Yes, come in. Just. . ." Julia's gaze followed him as he walked past. "Promise that you'll explain."

"Oui."

She closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Since the new season isn’t coming out until next month, and I don’t want to rewatch episodes I’ve already seen, apologies in advance for forgotten info or OOCness.
> 
> ——————
> 
> Thank you guys so much!! I’m glad you’re all enjoying ^u^
> 
> It may end a tad sudden, as it’s just kinda an experiment piece of an idea?
> 
> It probably won’t continue past this but I absolutely encourage any one who wants to make their own version or continuation!
> 
> (Also DO NOT set your own broken arm. Always go to a medical professional. If you try to reset your own broken bones it will either injure you further, or your doctor will need to re-break it to align it properly. This is fiction, and these characters don’t always make the best decision.)

The first thing done is to cover the couch and lay Sandiego on it.

The second thing is to address their wounds - particularly the broken arm of la femme.

Fortunately, years ago Mademoiselle Argent had broken her arm, and paid studious attention when it was set and splinted - even under medication she had the foresight to watch carefully. Even if later it would need to be treated by a proper doctor, it was better circumstances than Chase could have hoped for.

(And really, he beat himself up a bit over the fact that Julia was a smart, accomplished woman - he really had been a jerk to her when they worked together. His mocking he had tricked himself into thinking was lighthearted heckling was damaging and downright mean. He owed her an apology.   
  
Later, of course.)

“So,” she started, after his own wounds were treated at her insistance. He kept a bag of frozen peas on his head while waiting for the acetaminophen to kick in.

Chase sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m willing to take them time to listen.”

Chase nodded, then winced. “That’s fair.”

So he told her as best as could what had transpired - adding in how he had remembered her words about Sandiego when they worked together (a blow to his pride), his own forming doubts, and his discovery of her age.

She listened with rapt attention, not interrupting and letting Chase gather his thoughts.

“I . . .don’t know what to do now.” He finally admitted. Because he was at a loss; he couldn’t turn Sandiego in, not right now. But he would eventually have to report to his own boss.

Well, at least his pen was busted. That delayed things a bit.

(That and he left it in the field in case the tracking was still functional.)

Removing her hands from her chin, she folded them in her lap; Julia seemed more relaxed than she had in months, and he envied her comfortable posture. He was slouched with incursion; she was held upright with contentment.

Maybe Chase should quit his job.

Yeah, right.

“You know what I think?” He stirred from his thoughts, gesturing for her to continue. “I think, before any decisions are made, you should rest.”

“. . .huh?”

“Chase,” Julia sounded amused and exasperated all in one, “you, monsieur, are a workaholic. You feel as though every problem must be given a solution within that very moment. You are rash.” She pushes her glasses up. “That’s not to say it isn’t a virtue at times, but I think, as best as the circumstances allow, you need to rest.”

He was flabbergasted. “But-“

“No.” It was surprisingly stern, and halted him immediately. Julia sat up straighter, authoritative. “You will rest. You have no way to contact Sandiego’s friends, and are in no state to fight yourself on whether to turn her in or not. As it is, she is not going anywhere. There is time to breathe, to regroup,” she looked past her glasses at him, which he was sure made him no more than a fuzzy blob, but it had the desired affect, “of which you can do _after_ you rest. Oui?”

Seemed he had no choice. “Oui.”

* * *

Of course Julia Argent was right; although he slept fitful and woke up aching many times, the sparse rest _did_ help. He felt clearer, a little less worn.

Sandiego was awake at some point, but was not aware. She kept calling out, in English, for someone. ‘Player’ is what it sounded like - like some sort of name, he thought. Thankfully, she sunk back into sleep after a bit.

Mademoiselle Argent for her part didn’t badger him. The only words she spoke since he woke up was, “As-tu faim?” And it went to show how the familiarity didn’t even throw him off.

She gave him some simple cheese and bread, and some sort of herbal tea. He had muttered his thanks, and, after eating, resigned himself to thinking.

He had already decided not to turn her in - at least at this time. It was better for everyone involved if he stayed in his line of work. So he would need a story, and it would need to be believable.   
  
The other thing was, do they contact Sandiego’s friends? Or take care of her until she is well enough to leave on her own?

He hated the idea of taking advantage of Argent, but he went ahead and asked her thoughts on it. She insisted she was fine with it if it was the decision he went with.   
  
Well, _they_ , because Carmen Sandiego _was_ a legal adult, and thus had a right to weigh in on such decisions. When she was no longer unconscious, of course.

At least he had one decision made.

He decided to help clean up around the apartment, as payment for Mademoiselle Argent’s help.

And if she gave him a funny look later when she walked in, well, he wouldn’t let himself be too embarrassed.

* * *

When Carmen woke up, it was calmer than he had expected.

He expected her to try to jump up and immediately escape, once she registered she was in a strange place. But instead it was calm, wary. She blinked groggily, letting her eyes wander. She paused upon seeing Chase, but didn’t say anything. Just shifted to get more comfortable with a grunt of pain.

“Argent will be back soon,” he said. He was sitting in a chair, resting. The girl scrunched her brow, probably trying to translate the French, then nodded once.

“There is water, and acetaminophen on the table,” he added, making sure to speak in English, gesturing to the coffee table next to Carmen. She looked at it, then down to her broken arm. “I can help if you’d like.”

She tried to shrug, winced.

After helping her with the water and pills, he collapsed back into his seat with a sigh.

“. . .where’s my friends.”

Honestly, Chase is a little surprised by the question. He expected her to ask what was going on, or why she was here, or something in that vein.

. . .then again, he really knew little about Sandiego.

“I don’t know,” he gestured absently, “they weren’t there when we were taken. Désolé.”

She sighed, and closed her eyes. “Okay.”

A moment of quiet.   
  
She wasn’t asleep, he could tell, so he ventured, “Do you - do you recall what happened?”

Carmen kept her eyes closed. “Some. Brunt was there. You showed up? I passed out?”

“Brunt is la femme ours? Oui?”

“. . .Yeah.”

Chase nodded. Then, “Would you like me to fill you in on what happened?”

Carmen opened her eyes, looking at Chase. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for. “Sure.”

So he did, though a little more clipped than he did with Julia. He had the advantage of not being as exhausted.

“So there you go; now I will take a nap I think.” He settled back in the chair.

“. . .why aren’t you turning me in?”

A simple question. A difficult question. One he wasn’t sure how to answer, for her.

Instead, he shrugged.

She didn’t question further.

* * *

One thing was certain; Julia Argent made a dang good dinner.

* * *

It took probably three days before Carmen brought up her friends again.   
  
The discussion that followed was pretty long; back and forth, whether she should wait and rest up, leaving on her own, or contacting them somehow.

In the end, Julia’s advice won out; they would wait another week, two if they could, to make a further decision. They were both healing, Carmen especially, and Julia would be darned if she let them push it.

* * *

“The red, I understand - it is a signature; but have you ever thought about cutting your hair? It is very long,” Chase points out, with his fork, one day while all three are eating dinner. It’s salad and soup, and fresh bread.

Carmen stills at this, and he’s shocked at the reaction. She’s frozen, almost. Turned to stone.

Was that offensive to say?

He glanced at Julia, who shook her head. So no, it wasn’t offensive. It was a personal issue of some sort then.

“I. . .” Chase watched as she touched her hair with one of her hands. “I don’t want to cut it.”

“Fair enough.”

“I think it looks lovely,” Argent adds.

Still, he wonders why she had seemed scared.

* * *

The decision is made for them, when Julia gets a call on her cell phone, three days shy of two weeks.

Chase sees the scrunch of her brow that indicates she’s mad about something - confirmed when she tells whoever it is that if they’re gonna be rude she’ll hang up. They seem to calm down, because she does.

And then she hands the phone to Carmen. “It’s for you.”

Chase and Carmen share a quizzical look. The latter realizing almost instantly.

Putting the phone to her ear she says, shakily, “Player?”

Ah.   
  
Chase gets up, nods to Julia. “I think I will excuse myself. May I use your shower?” Truth be told, it’s about time he showered. Been a few days.

She nods. “I’ll go. . .organize my closet.”

Which is just an excuse they both know, because Julia is fairly tidy, but they don’t say anything.

  
Chase takes a long time, uses up all the hot water in the process. By time he gets out and dressed, Julia is in the kitchen and Carmen still on the phone.

“Let me help you,” he says, and starts on the dishes while she cooks.

He tunes out the phone call as best as he can.

* * *

Turns out Player - Chase feels like he is something akin to a brother to Carmen - was a smart kid and figured it out when she dropped off the grid. Things were discussed, and plans made.

Carmen would leave before Chase, during the night. Meet up with her friends. Chase would leave the evening after, and recale to a police station, with a story about being kidnapped and wandering lost in the field. It stretched much farther from where they had jumped off of the train, and if he dirtied up his torn suit again, and himself, it wasn’t _too_ far from unbelievable. He could tell ACME a partial truth; that a VILE agent had gotten him, and his pen broke when he escaped.

When the night came, Carmen looked none the worse. The only difference was how she held her arm, still healing.

She paused before she opened the door. None of them had really talked beyond the events that brought them, or trivial things at dinner. It had been awkward, but not horrible.

So it was a little surprising when she said, “Thanks.”

She didn’t turn around, so Chase couldn’t see her face.

“I really appreciate your help. Both of you. It wasn’t - you made a choice to help me, and. . .merci beaucoup. For everything.”

He thought about how she was a kid, barely an adult. How she shouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place. How he was a jerk for not seeing sooner. How much he needed to make up to Julia for being right.

But he didn’t say anything, except, “You’re welcome. Be safe.”

And then she was gone. And soon he would be too.

And he didn’t know how things would be, after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presume that French is mainly being spoken here, even if I’m writing in English. They’re in France and it’s both Julia and Chase’s native tongue, so I presume they would talk in their first language for the most part. Carmen knows some French from having to deal with them. They make an effort to speak English when speaking with Carmen, since she’s not fluent in French. Chase calls Brunt la femme ours (“bear woman”) because he _thinks_ in French even if this fic is pretty much in English.
> 
> I tried LOL.
> 
> I headcanon that Carmen let’s her hair grow long because VILE made her keep it short.

**Author's Note:**

> I lost effort like halfway through because I got stuck. Whoops. Also characterization has gone out the window but eh.


End file.
